The Passage
by mywordshurt
Summary: Faberry. I own nothing.
1. One

**The Passage**

**(Questions for My Love)**

Beauty. It appears to me in you. Perfection, attempting to exist, appears to me in you.

The glories of life: the most wonderous images, the most soothing sounds, the most delicious scents: you bring them to me. Do you mean to? Do you want to treat me so? Am I deserving? Deserving of your soft locks, of piercing eyes, of the most angelic voice. Are you so willing to give up your time to spoil me? Do you mean to?

Your slightest movement: it triggers happiness within me. By the most simple of things. Guide your hair back in place. Allow your face to fully grace me. Let me bask in you. Shift your weight, move towards me. How did I ever come to meet you? Was it by accident? Was it by your choice? You happened to be there, to be in my life, to be close to me. Do you wonder how our lives intertertwined? How did I ever come to meet you?

In my life seldom have things so beautiful ever graced me. The worries of God are none: the worries of myself are none in this moment. They are none when I see you. They are none when I hear my name in your angelic voice. Not the violence nor the anger of my life. They mean nothing when your enter. You provide me with happiness that I can only dream of providing you. Dreams are scarce where you are: fulfilled are most of mine. Take your time leaving, propriety will wait for you. You take your shoes off, but not for propriety's sake: I want to see more of you. God, I want to see more of you.

Do I bother you? Do you have something to say? Pointlessness fills my words and keeps you waiting: forever you will be kept in my life if you don't push. Push as hard as you want, I don't think I'll ever notice. Your actions are simply acts of beauty that fuel my obliviousity.

Grace me with your words: you do and I want more. Grace me with your presence: you're as close as I allow you to be.

"I came here for a reason."

"Oh. Right."

"It's been enjoyable so far, but I think what I have to say is important."

"Okay. You're right, I'm sorry. Go on."

". . . I . . . I love you. Very much. I have for a while. And I've finally decided that I can't take simply being your friend anymore. You need to know, or at least I need to know you know. I need to know you understand what I do. I need to know you accept me in your life."

". . . I . . . I love you, too. Of course I . . . accept you."


	2. Two

**The Passage **

**(Questions for My Love)**

She had to go: it had to come. Eternity could only last so long when disguised as a few moments. But she remained in my thoughts. Nothing in particular; her hair was down, but was it parted to the left or right? I know it looked incredible in the moment, and I suppose that's all that matters for the time being.

Were we together? She never said, I never said. Were we in love? Of course we were, we said so . . . but does that matter? Are our words as reliable as we want them to be?

The window is open. There's a breeze. Birds are chirping outside. My parents are speaking downstairs. My bed needs to be made. My hands are clamped together. The door is cracked. Hair is being blown into my face. It tickles my nose. My breathing is calm, almost non-existent. Am I sure it is there? She'd know . . .

She'd have noticed if one strand of hair was missing: at least I'd want her to know. I want her here, with me. I want her to kiss me. She loves me, doesn't she? So why shouldn't she kiss me, why shouldn't she be allowed to express herself with me in the freedom of my home? Why can't I reach out, touch her – if only for a moment – and know that she was real, that she was with me. That this hasn't been a lie . . . I miss her. Doubting her, doubting this is torture. Doubting reality is torture. When will she approach me again? I couldn't approach her: not with her family. She'd never forgive me.

I'm different, and people won't forgive that. They won't accept me.

She's different, but I can forgive that. I can accept her. "I can accept you."

Is it because I love her? No, certainly not, no. That's only an accessory, I could never hate her the way some hate me. I could never think of hating her, even though she tortures me. She teases, she torments: _into my life one moment and gone the next without a single warning and she could do it over and over again and nothing would change and I know it_.

She's so controlled, so chained down; how does it feel?

But her insides are gentle, they're kind. They only sometimes seep out and reveal themselves, and only to certain people.

Please, grace me with your presence: I'm allowing you to be closer.

But it's too late, you're gone. You're far away, yet so near. Which way did you go? I wish I knew. I wish I could reach out and touch you.

Is it free? Is it easy? Do I have to strive for you? Will you love me, or just feel for me? Tell me the difference: _I'll accept it as true and never look back and do whatever you want and love you still regardless of what you do._


	3. Three

**The Passage**

**(Questions for My Love)**

All these people, all of them: they don't understand. They're all smiling – smiling and laughing. They're all going to die one day, and yet they laugh and smile and waste their time instead of actually doing something with their lives!

They don't care though, that's the problem. They realize their own impending doom, they just don't _care_. I care though. I'm going to do someone substantial in life. No one will stand in my way. They want to waste their time? Fine! I will have no part in –

You.

I bump into _you_. I touched you. You're real. You are real.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"I wish I could have stayed longer yesterday, but my parents . . . I didn't want to take any chances."

"I understand."

"That's good."

"Mm."

"I wasn't sure if I really went through with it yesterday: talking to you and all."

"You regret it?"

"No! Don't be silly. You're so smart and yet so . . ."

". . ."

"I'm glad I came."

"So am I."

"Come on, I have to go to my locker."

"You're not worried about anyone suspecting . . ."

"Suspecting what?"

"Well . . ."

"There's nothing to suspect."

"There isn't?"

"We're friends, that's it."

"Jjjust friends?"

"Yeah. There's no law outlawing that."

"Wait."

"I can't, I have to get to my locker."

"I said wait!"

"Don't be so bossy. Fine. What?"

"Not here; there's people. Over there."

"We're here now, can you please tell me what now?"

"I thought . . ."

"You thought wrong."

"You – You don't . . . love me?"

"Of course I love you."

"I don't . . . I don't understand."

"Clearly."

"What did I think wrong?"

"You thought we were together. We're not."

"Oh."

"_Oh_."

"Don't mock me."

"_Don't mock me._"

"I don't even think I _want_ to be with you anymore. So immature and"

"_So immature and_"

"confusing and enigmatic"

"_confusing and enigmagtdic_"

"Enigma_tic_, dear. Learn to speak."

"We can't all have your incredibly versatile mouth, sweetie."

". . ."

"What?"

"Sweetie . . ."

"You like that?"

"It makes me feel something inside."

"Something good, I hope."

"Of course something good. Something wonderful."

"Good. Now, shall we move onto my locker?"

"We shall."

Why aren't we together?

Because of me.

She's perfect. Her smiles are brilliant and dazzling and if only God knew what he had so brilliantly created. So many wonderful things came with her. Why doesn't she realize all her perfections: I want to point them out. I _should_ point them out. She would love that. She would love to know how gorgeous her hair is, how _fluttering_ it is when it tickles her cheek. The twirls and twists. Shines and twinkles and. Oh goodness! Less it be than it is. But nothing changes with that. Delightful and darling and I love and you. And feel it. Feel _all_ of it.

"Why aren't we together?"

"Because you never asked me to be your girlfriend."

"Oh."

"Oh is right. Shame on you! I bear my soul to you and what do I get in return? Gawks and gazes and stony lips. Maybe one day you'll get down and propose to me. Won't that be the day."

"I'd do it now if I had a ring."

"Shame on you!"

"Ow."

"I don't care for a ring. What does a ring do other than keep me bound to you: I want your love and nothing more. A _ring_ doesn't do that. A ring just . . ."

"Binds?"

"Burdens."

"I won't get you a ring then."

"Better not."

"I won't."

"Diamond?"

"Sounds lovely."

"I want to touch you. Make sure you're real."

"Sigh."

"Ow!"

"You wanted me to touch you."

"Actually, I said _I_ wanted to touch _you_."

"This is just as good."

"Of course it is."

"Ow!"

"Now we're even."

"Oh, don't worry, we have a _long _way to go."


	4. Four

**The Passage**

**(Questions for My Love)**

Why can't we be together all the time?

Your lips comfort and sway, gentleness untold except in my mind: you would be so lucky to know it, much less be the source of your beauty. I suppose that makes me luckier than you, but that does not make much sense. I can't say I'd give anything to be you, seeing as I have you. Is it better to admire or be admired? I suppose it matters whether it is admiring from close, or from afar. Never has anyone asked the question, they just appreciated the closeness, or mourned the distance. Does it make me arrogant to ask? Should I just thank you for being here with me? For being allowed to know your grace, to know your beauty . . . whatever the answer is, I don't think I'll mind it much unless it comes along with the comfort.

Am I selfish for loving you so much? Is this natural, or am I just difficult? Do you want all this attention, all this love, are you suffocated, are you disturbed? Do I want to know the answer? I don't know if you should tell me, I care too much about myself. That makes me selfish. I'd rather you be suffocated by myself than me be consumed by loneliness: what a poor lover I am.

Lover! What right do I have to call myself that? We have yet to make love, much less be so intimate as to call it making love. Touches are the only thing you have let me know, but is that so bad that I should be disappointed by it? I have to say no because of how wonderful your touch is, how fantastic you are. As if you come straight from the imagination of many ambitious lovers.

What am I allowed to think about? Should I not fantasize about moments of intimacy, should I just wait for them to happen? Beauty fills my mind and I wish to be surrounded by it, but it must remain in my heart – or mind – for your fear is greater than my desire.

Does it make you weak? Should you let your nightmares rule your life? Am I worth the worst? Are you worth more than me? I am terrible for thinking this! I do not need to ask, I know. If only I had the courage to tell you my thoughts, then you could punish me justly for my blasphemous thoughts. Should I tell you, would you be hurt? I would understand why: my guilt inspiring questions are nothing but shallow and mindless.

I love you, and I should not expect anything more from you than what you are comfortable with.

Let me help you through the worst. Let me in, and we could be strong together.

"Mom, dad, this is Rachel."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Afternoon."

"The pleasure is all mine. You have a wonderful daughter."

"Thank you."

"Rachel and I will just be upstairs."

"Okay, sweetie, how long with Rachel be staying?"

"How long can you stay?"

"My parents don't mind as long as I call."

"Four?"

"Sounds fine."

"Four, mom."

"Okay! You two have fun."

Lead me up to your heaven. Or mine, it would seem. This heaven, surrounded by all this hell: who would think your parents would be so venomous if they knew our love. But then again, who would think that anyone could hate the love of two young girls. What is so evil about that? What is so detestable about two young girls kissing and laughing and enjoying the others' company so much that it is the only company that they'd need for the rest of their lives?

Do you feel that way?

Do you wish to love me that way?

Or do you think it evil and disgusting of yourself to be so weak and give into your lust and to love me.

I hope you care for me.


	5. Six

**The Passage**

**(Questions for My Love)**

I don't have words. Not for you, nor for me. What could I say to you that you don't already know? Nothing more can I risk short of my love.

Don't be without promise to yourself and others your love with consume not cherish and what is left of us will not be worth loving but worth mourning without second thought and even that is giving too much value. Nothing seeps into nothing embracing nothing and loving nothing but only when nothing comforts because this hatred is unbearable, please take it away I want nothing I love nothing let me feel nothing.

Please.

Nothing or numbness? Is it the same?

Is it different?

Give me nothing, my love. Let me be pure.

I don't have words. Not for either of us. What else do you want me to say that you don't know anyway. Do you want me to risk my love. It's the only thing left of me.

Don't not promise yourself and others your love will consume not cherish and what is left of us will not be worth loving but worth mourning without another thought and even that is giving too much worth. Nothing goes into nothing holding nothing and loving nothing but only when nothing comforts because this hate is unbearable, please take it away I want nothing I love nothing let me feel nothing.

Please.

Nothing or being numb. Is it the same.

Is it different.

Give me nothing, lover. Let me be pure.


End file.
